


Of Wizards and Scarlet Witches.

by drunkinthemorning



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), cross - Fandom
Genre: Action/Adventure, Crossover Pairings, Evil villains, F/M, Immortal Harry Potter, Magic, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-03-28 22:03:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3871357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drunkinthemorning/pseuds/drunkinthemorning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Upon the destruction of his world, an Immortal Harry found himself drifting across space for untold eons, until an unseen force draws him into another's realm. He found himself in New York City after the defeat of Ultron, a world without visible magic, but of heroes and villains. A world where he was the only remaining Wizard, along with a Witch that wasn't exactly one. H/Sw.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/n: This story makes use of one of the more popular fan theories out there. Of the second interpretation of Sybill Trelawney's prophecy, of how one can only die at the hand of the other.
> 
> It takes place in New York slightly after the second Avengers movie. If you've not watched the movie, I apologize if there are any spoilers, I tried to avoid those at least until the second chapter.
> 
> The story would revolve around both the relationship between Harry and the Avengers cast, and the growing evils that sought to enter their world. A potential romantic pairing between Harry and Wanda because, it's bloody brillant! A Wizard and a Witch!

_Either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives._

What if Sybill Trelawney's prophecy was a little bit more literal? That the only way for either one of them to truly die, was to be by the hand of the other. And by killing Voldemort, Harry Potter made the ultimate sacrifice, as the other no longer lives, he could no longer die.   
  
Immortality, unwillingly bestowed upon him.

What if the boy who lived, _lived forever._

ooOoooOoo

Magic, raw and unbridled coursed through his very essence, threatening to tear him asunder. Visions, of past events and futures passed. He saw landscapes and battles, of towering buildings and derelict cottages, of children born and of elders passed. Of laughter and joy, of cries and feeble whimpers, of screams and desperate gasps. He could see, could hear everything in existence. Overwhelmingly so, it blinded him, deafened him, they ripped at his very being, tearing at his humanity, slicing unto the edges of his haunted soul.

He saw the millions that lived before him and millions that would, he saw past families and friends, of enemies and lovers, and in that moment itself, he saw himself. A skinny little boy, feeble in all its definition, whose birth would shake the foundations of the magical world and whose immortality would henceforth reshape it to his will. He saw himself, through his own darkened memories, stretching from his own birth to time beyond his own immortality.

He used his own harnessed magic to shift himself out of actuality, allowing magic to writhe through his broken frame, contorting him to their unrestrained strength. Agony coursed through what remained of him, twisting, warping him through the monstrous maelstrom of power he held within him, churning as they threatened to pry him apart from the inside.

Violent flashes of magic tore overhead, more pure than any conjured. It held no goodwill, yet it was without malevolence, grey magic, as raw and uncurbed as can be. It encased him in a tiny cocoon, condensing with each passing moment, shrinking as his own body constricted, restructured in order to remain. His bones were twisted, his flesh torn, his mouth opened to scream, only to be engulfed by the circling magic.

And as the world around him disintegrated into nothingness, the boy who lived, yet lived. In a tiny magical shell, till the very end of time.

ooOoooOoo

She sat at a corner table by the highly recommended shawarma restaurant, a book in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Even though she and her older brother were both invited to the Avengers program only mere weeks ago, things were not as hectic nor as unaccommodating as she once thought. If anything else, the rest of the Avengers were more than welcoming, treating them both not just as equals, but of family as well.

While their core group mostly dealt with the aftermath of Ultron's rampage, mostly on both the cleanups and on the political ends, the two of them were given ample time to explore New York, to adjust to the unfamiliarity of an entirely new continent. Having never left her small town of Sokovia, the new yet unaccustomed sights were truly something to behold.

From the dirtied streets she grew up in, the tiny brick houses they lived in to polished floors and glass buildings as high as the eye could see, it all amazed her. Between walking through its endlessly walkable streets, she found herself spending hours indulging in the many different coffee shops that she had grown to love.

While her brother was a little bit more interested in the New York nightlife and the plenty of entertainment a city like this provided, she found the given time instead permitting her to travel, to study more about the country she would now live in. She read a ton, visibly astounded at her first visit to their library, at how wide their collections, their materials were. She further improved her English as well, though she was already with a strong grasp of that language.  
  
It did not take long for her to notice the change in her older brother, tiny little things that only she as a younger sibling could see, from the way he smiled to the way his eyes shone. He seemed so different from the past, he was almost glowing now, full of radiance. He loved his new life and in return, it made her happy as well, unbelievably so.

Looking at the bustling scenery around her, Wanda Maximoff smiled lightly to herself, perhaps, just perhaps, the Scarlet Witch had a place right here with the Avengers.

oOOoooOOo

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, once the illustrious epitome of magical education and learning, a majestic castle that sprawled across one of Scotland's many enchanting sites. A castle that overlooked the Black Lake, ran by only the most achieved and prestigious of professors, the school itself was not only renowned for its learning, but also for the might of its Wizards and Witches. It was practically impenetrable.

Yet now, it was nothing but a ruined grave. Collapsed wreckage remained of its once great walls. Dozens of raucous creatures flew by overhead, dragons as they sniffed through the rubble for remaining survivors. They were not likely to succeed in finding anything more than corpses. Hooded men stood by the powerful creatures, holding onto their mounted straps like masters to a pet, their whips at the ready.

A green colored skull reigned chillingly in the clouded skies above them, casting an unnatural green hue over the fallen castle. Centuries passed since the mark of the dark lord was last seen, but it had not lost its bloodcurdling flair. The lakes beneath started to brew into a frenzy, a green mist quickly shrouding across its untouched surface, sending torrential waves upon the other, as the casted curse threatened all life beneath its murky depths.

Life soon ceased to exist within the Black lake, and the ones intelligent enough to escape were quickly dispatched of the moment they left the waters, as flashes of green accompanied the hundreds of falling bodies.

Like shrouded demons guarding the doors to hell itself, a legion of hooded figures stood motionless by the Great Hall's entrance. They took a step back as the armored figure approached, a black tower of fluttering robes that were caught by the breeze created by his own sheer size and stride. His arms were as though they could split even a dragon's skull by themselves.

The figure standing by the rear moved towards the approaching figure, kneeling down in front of him as he spoke from behind a twisted mask, "they are down to one. He locked himself inside of the hall."

The hulking figure barely acknowledge the other as he pushed apart the ivory doors, entering where the Great Hall once stood. His blood red eyes hungrily searched the devastated landscape, "show yourself!" He shouted, his voice a deep boom across the otherwise empty halls, his arms were raised into the air as a challenge, the momentum sending his hood backwards, revealing the face of a scarred warrior.

Darkened hair ran down the back of his neck, as do marked wounds down his face. Some were from older days, others newer, unhealed, fresh. "I have your children," he laughed as he swung his wand in random directions, sending blasts of energy towards where he saw fit, as explosions shook the once famous halls, leaving nothing but destruction in its wake.

"I will kill them. One by one, until you tell me where is Harr-"

He smiled before he finished the sentence, lifting his wand just as a crackling ball of electricity shot towards him. The sphere grew stronger in its path, menacingly as it broke off into a dozen different shards of fatal energy, all converging upon his location. Yet the intruding figure barely moved, a slight flick of his wrists as a force field of sorts erected around him. They absorbed the incoming magic as though they were harmless before diminishing into nothingness.

"You are no longer fighting to disarm," he said as a matter-of-factly, his voice filled with amusement, "you and your kind should have fought to kill from the very start of this war, not with those useless ancient disarming spells."

The hidden attacker did not reply, but instead a flux could be felt in the air, the gathering of magic before the unleashment of a powerful spell. The entire hall rumbled in response, the grounds beneath the two shaking as remaining pillars and monuments fell around them both, as cracks appeared in the walls that still stood, as rocks fell from the ceilings above.

The hulking figure's smile only grew wider. "That's it…" He laughed depravedly, his voice filled with thrill, with excitement unlike one should have in his dire situation. For a moment, the room was stilled. And in the next, the floor exploded. Waves of torrential strength shot forth from the dungeons below, destroying all that stood in its path, splitting away rubble and fallen structures like they were nothing. The vast whirlpool grew in its size, climbing higher towards the unending ceilings, sending chunks of stone and discarded furnitures in all direction.

"Come on!" The taunting man shouted, looking small in comparison to the controlled fury that grew in this room. "  
  
“Do it!"

He heard the murmuring of magical words right as the makeshift ocean tore towards him in tremendous magnitude. Bigger than even the most colossal of Basilisks, the whirlpools shot towards the man, sweeping over everything in its path. The great hall vanished in that instance, engulfed by the growing tide.

The figure roared as it grew closer, merrily so as his wand shot towards the space in front of him. Darkened energy crackled at its base, emerging from the many rings that encased his grip. Each contained the horocrux of a powerful wizard, none willingly so. He forcefully ripped the souls of those he deemed worthy and powerful, trapping them inside rings forged with the bones of the first Dark Lord. It allowed him to draw strength from the fallen Wizards, creating for himself a wand more powerful than anything else imaginable.

The nine rings pulsated in response, each reacting to the first, strengthening the unnatural magic, focusing it onto a single point before a single beam of black shot forth. It sliced through the descending tsunami with a deafening roar, evaporating the entirety of it from the point of impact, reducing the ocean to nothingness as the spell continued forward. It flew in the direction of where he last heard the casted spell and before the darkened bolt impacted against the stone walls, it curved behind the rubble, smashing right into the center mass of the hidden Wizard.

The screaming soon began.

There was a brief shimmer as the caster apparated, a twist in reality before he found himself standing before the fallen figure. A middle aged man, in the midst of consumption by the black ooze attached to his chest. He watched as his former colleague tore at the growing darkness, his nails drawing blood, digging into his own skin in futility.

In some way, he respected the fallen Wizard, a strong opponent worthy of his pity. He knew of the torment that his spell would bring, the ooze that would seek out all forms of moisture. In this case, human blood, absorbing it into more of its own, soon leaving the body drained of red, leaving an empty carcass of nothing but bones wrapped in a black cocoon. It would eat him from the inside out, excruciatingly so.

"Kro… Kronnos…" The man pleaded as the darkness constricted around his neck, squeezing as his pupils started to turn black. "P-Please… Y- You're once a teacher. Wh-" He gasped a final time, his body no longer functioning, his lungs a barren core. His eyes trembled as the blackened tentacles crawled up his face, searching, pleading for mercy.

"Tell me, Professor Lundix," The large figure approached the last surviving Hogwarts professor, "where he is."

"Tell me where Harry Potter is, and I will grant you the sweet mercy of death."

ooOOooOOoo

It was then she realized that she could no longer breathe. The book she once held clattered heavily onto the ground beside her, the coffee spilt as she heavily gasped, her own constricting chest denying her of precious oxygen. She noticed approaching figures, men and women in the same store as she was. Harmless civilians, ones that sought only to help a seemingly choking female. She could see them crowding beside her, but their words appeared hollow, echoing off from a distance as they asked if she was alright.

She saw one reaching out for her, a woman's hand as it lightly patted against her back. And upon contact, her entire body stilled, her eyes widened as she was sucked into a void of indistinguishable memories. Scenes flashed through her mind like photographic images, of a tiny child clamoring at her mother's feet, of a growing teenage girl, of a young woman sobbing alone in a tiny bathroom. The same young female in the delivery room, then she was beside a younger girl, with similar features. She looked so proud, beaming with happiness. The sensation engulfed her with europhia, she could feel the same joy that the woman felt, right before it was ripped violently away from her, replaced by a growing despair. Then suffering, as she watched the little girl's body crumpled lifelessly onto the ground.

Anger, as the drunk driver sped away without care.

It overwhelmed over, as memories and emotions of all the ones that touched her exploded within her mind, engulfing it in an erupting wave. Men, women, young and old. She screamed as she pushed away from the crowd, trying to distance herself away from the booming sensations when suddenly… quietness.

She opened her eyes only to see the entire world at a still, nothing in her vicinity moved. It was dauntingly silent, beyond any she had experienced. She wondered if it was what her brother felt when he moved through the world at super speed, then she realized that she was not moving faster, but that the entire world had stopped.

It was only until she walked out of the café did she realize the magnitude of it all. She stood in the center of New York City's busiest district, and yet nothing moved. Humans were in mid movement, as birds were stuck unmoving in the skies above. Cars were held still in busy roads, as though someone hit pause on a television screen.

She reached out towards the closest person beside her yet before they touched, she was again pulled in another direction, in all directions as she felt her body forcefully warped into another realm.

She landed, her boots pressing into hardened stone. The air was thick with… magic, though she did not know how she knew. Intoxicatingly so. She felt them being drawn towards her, wrapping around her fingertips. She could feel the unseen forces pulling onto her, dragging her away from where she stood. She followed quickly, running as the world shook around her. She climbed across a small hill of sorts and saw two figures standing alone in an opened clearing.

They stood on opposite ends, as waves of energy met in the middle, each casted from the stick-like object they held in their arms. She recognized one of them from her previous visions, the hulking figure… She remembered his name, _Kronnos._ The other stood impasse, seemingly unafraid of the monster twice his size. He looked almost human, a headful of darkened hair, gentle features, she gauged him as someone in his mid-twenties, around her own age.

Something felt very wrong. She could feel it, the energies in the air were crackling, as though they were being poisoned, dying. One of them shouted, she could see the hulking man waver, as his arm trembled with each passing second. She could see the rings around his wand starting to crack, and as one did, the rest shattered in a blinding light. She felt the explosion consume everything around them, she felt the withering of life, the millions that were lost in the ensuring discharge. She felt the destruction of this world as she screamed from its loss.

Then, there was nothing. Darkened space remained where life was once abundant. She flowed through the desolated cosmos, the emptiness consuming her. She tried to fight the growing darkness, but it was like the professor she watched die. It constricted around her, binding her, suffocating her, it expanded into every orifice, choking, killing. She struggled, clawed desperately at the growing blackness, she thought of her hexes, her abilities, but nothing seemed to appear.

Suddenly, a brief flash of light burned the darkness off her, disintegrating them into fiery ashes as she looked towards her savior. A tiny ball of light, floating in an otherwise empty space. She felt drawn towards it, the warmness it provided contrasting the coldness of space. She floated towards it, the light so tiny she could wrap her palm around it. And as she did, she heard the sounds of traffic, of a busy New York afternoon.

She heard the sound… of a single heartbeat. She pulled towards them all, like a blinded ship guided towards port by a lighthouse in the midst of a powerful storm.  
  
As her fingers clasped around the orb, in that single moment, she felt herself being abruptly pulled through the eons, across hundreds of dimensions before she felt the familiar sensation of warm concrete beneath her palms. She looked up at the blinding noon sky, felt the sweltering New York heat.

She opened her palm, a tiny orb laid in her hand. It wasn't a vision, nor a dream.

_What exactly the hell happened?_


	2. Chapter 2

He exhaled deeply, clearly annoyed by the matter at hand. An exasperated sigh followed through, irritably so as he stared at the tiny object placed in front of him, a glowing orb held in place by two magnetic clamps. He moved closer and glared at the circular object, his hands firmly pitted against his waist as though his angry scowl could force it to reveal all of its secrets.

"Fine." He muttered as he took a step back, "fine, fine, fine, fine, fine!" Repeating himself vexingly, he eventually threw his hands up in defeat, "Fine!"

Tony Stark looked towards the rest of his team that stood by in Stark Tower's main laboratory floor, "I have no idea what the hell this is."

Pointing to the seemingly innocuously minuscule object, he added in disgruntledly, "I say we destroy it."

"You do not destroy things simply due to the lack of understanding of their origins and intents," the other occupant of the sealed containment room spoke from behind the screens he was meticulously studying, a look of displeasure across his face, "just because you are unable to understand or to be able to control it, does not indicate its harmfulness."

"Guys," Tony looked over his shoulders to the few that waited beyond his lab's containment fields, a contingency made in risk of the object being a viral weapon of some kind, alien or not. "Can I propose a change in personal, or the removal of my colleague. I require someone less biased with an impartial view," a playful smile as he added in, "someone less green."

Bruce Banner frowned at the other man, though clearly not taking offense at his very accurate assessment of his partiality. "Doesn't mean I'm wrong," he remarked as the two of them headed towards the sealed doors, pressing both their palms against the biometric scanners, waiting for the pins to flash from red to green before the locks disengaged, greeting them with an audible click. They were flooded with a gush of frozen sterilized air before they exited the lab, entering the lounge area where the rest of the Avengers sat.

"There's a first for everything," one of the few seated outside stood as the two stepped out, "Tony Stark, finally admitting that he is stumped."

"I am mortified," the exiting man replied, exaggeratedly ghastly, "I will not take that from a man who thought modern day bidets were used to wash pets." He grinned as they shook hands, feeling slightly dwarfed by the super soldier in front of him, "did you just cut your hair again? You know that you no longer have to follow army regulations, right?"

Steve Rogers was a powerful man by all definition, with wide shoulders and a large frame that easily dwarfed his engineering friend. Yet his size was no indication of how good of a man he was. Noticing the tiny circles underneath the other's eye, he added in, "you should get some rest; you've been here the whole night." While Steve lived the majority of his life in Brooklyn New York during the twentieth century, he held no discernible accent. Other than his slight confusion at the more technologically advanced features of modern day inventions, none would have guessed that he was frozen in suspended animation for more than seventy years in the North Atlantic Ocean.

"What is your assessment of it though?" The hint of concern in his voice was apparent and Tony knew exactly what the other Avenger was thinking even without mentioning it. "It’s not of Chitauri origins, that’s for sure," he assured the Captain, "in fact, I'm not even sure what it’s for."

It happened not more than two years ago, but the Chitauri invasion was the first time humanity was faced with the indisputable proof that they were not alone in this universe, and the results were devastating. Countless lives were loss, monuments were toppled and had Tony himself not redirected the nuke towards the opened portal, the results might have been even more cataclysmic. Not to mention the events in its aftermath, the world's mad scramble to recover whatever Chitauri technology they could salvage, with more ill intent than not. And even so, there was the one question that plagued them above all, knowing that the Chitauri failed _, will they return?_  
  
"We've ran every single possible test we can think of since Wanda's discovery of it a day ago, and we now know barely anything more of it since then." Waving towards the lab that stood behind them, he added, "and you do realize that I have better facilities and is at least a hundred times more funded than even the most advanced of scientific institutions? Places like MIT, CERN, they can't hold a candle to my as-"

"They are… umm… labs, research places," he added in as he remembered how uninitiated and unacquainted the WW2 soldier was, "I'm saying that I have better stuff and... nevermind."

"Ah, you're mentioning your toys."

"Yes, well, back to the point. As far as we can tell, the orb thingy is… an orb. It's perfectly symmetrical, with no visible intrusions on its surface. The slight yellowish glow that it emits could imply that it’s either an organic object, or something powered by an energy source. We were unable to get to it because the material it’s coated with, which is not from this Earth nor any known periodic table of ours, is well, impenetrable."

"You see the heaps and chunks of metal over there?" He pointed towards a discarded mass of mangled silver, "let’s just say that they don't give bulk discounts on Vibranium, and even the hardest known metal fails to puncture the surface. The most peculiar thing about it? The orb feels nothing like something of its sturdiness. It is light, the exterior is soft, smooth. Kind of like a woman's- you get the point."

"Any chance it might be Asgardian technology?" Steve was tempted to use the term magic, but he knew how Tony might respond. The man hated that term, always quoting Arthur C. Clarke whenever it was brought up, _any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic_. He agreed to a certain extent, were he to have seen some of the things possible in the twenty first century back during his time in 1920's Brooklyn, he would have thought them impossible.

"I don't know… though," a childlike curiosity appeared across the man's brow, "what I would do to see Thor strike it with his Mjolnir… Where is he anyway? Visiting that female scientist again? What's her face? Sally? Mary? Jane?"

The man on the other side of the room spoke without looking up from his computer screen, "he told me he's in another realm on Asgardian business." Bruce Banner, the saner version of the Hulk looked nothing like his uncontrollably destructive counterpart, in fact, he was one of the gentlest man the two other had the chance of coming across. "In… Niffleheim I think, or was it Hel. I have no idea."

"Hmm. Hell." Tony let the word hang over the three for a long moment, "none of you are going to say anything about that?"

ooOOoooOOoo

An hour ago, Clint Barton was sitting by the porch of his tiny farmhouse, contentedly sipping coffee in the glow of evening's warmth as he listened to the sounds of his wife and children playing in the meadows ahead, thinking how perfectly wonderful his day was. Now, he was looking out the doors of a Quinjet ten thousand feet up in the air, with absolute despise of the growing weather. Turbulent winds howled from all directions around him as thunder roared in the distance, it was bad enough he had to leave his family due to work, but to jump out of a moving object this high up in the air in the midst of a heavy thunderstorm?

He was seething with annoyance.

Performing a final check on his equipment, he looked back towards his team, nodding before he turned and ran down the ramp, launching himself off into the open air, allowing gravity to do the rest. He shot downwards at an alarming rate, his vision fully obscured by both the rain and the darkness. Sliding his arms forward and pressing onto the button on the side of his visor, he was greeted by a world of red and green, a mixture of night vision and infrared red. The former allowing him to recalibrate his descent and the latter allowing him to scan his target location for human shaped thermal signature.

The object slung around his back started to whirl as he passed a thousand feet, two long poles stretched forward, connecting at the space in front of him, forming an umbrella of sorts. Parachutes were far too slow, it made men like him vulnerable, easily spotted. He was using a new Stark tech for Ocean warfare, a suit that would allow him to silently breach enemy lines without the chance of being detected.

A tiny light told him to brace for impact moments before he penetrated the ocean's murky depths. Instantly, the front of the umbrella hardened, allowing him to easily pierce through the water’s surface, as the experimental liquid inside of his suit hardened, encasing him in a jellylike object that fully absorbed the brunt of his impact.

He sliced into a darkened world, yet was fully protected from its freezing temperature, not only preventing the chill from reaching him, but also warming up to a comfortable heat, _Tony even thought of that too_. It did not take him long to quickly ascend the towering cruise ship that soon sailed past his direction, two arrows into the chest of the terrorist unfortunate enough to be guarding its rear as Hawkeye quickly disappeared into the shadows.

He activated the night vision, again greeted by a world of brilliant green. He was silent as he proceeded onwards, his movements kept low to the ground in order to avoid detection. He reacted instantly as a door started to open in his path, jumping upwards and latching his fingers onto an overhead pipe, effortlessly swinging himself upwards like a practiced acrobat. He waited as the masked figure walked to the side of the ship, taking off his mask as he began to light a cigarrete between his lips.

Dropping soundlessly behind the man, all it took was a sudden shove to send him tumbling down the side, his screams masked by the violent waves beneath. Turning towards where the terrorist previously exited, he entered the interior of the enormous vessel, continuing towards where his intel believed the hostages were being held.

It took him more than fifteen minutes to traverse the ship in a safe pattern, carefully as he eventually stood outside of the dinner hall. There were no windows and the doors were held shut, an ideal place to keep their hostages, and at the same time, a waiting ambush. He stopped to think, a dozen different ways of breaching the locked room flashed through his mind.

He was so caught up with his planning, he noticed the presence of another a little too late. But luckily for him, the terrorist was equally as confused, a moment of uncertainty as they stared at the other before they both scrambled for their weapons. He was without a doubt faster, sending another two arrows neatly into the man's heart, tumbling him backwards before he could even point his weapon at the man who killed him.

Disastrously, he was not fast enough to stop the weapon from exploding in the dying man's grip, bullets tearing into where the weapon was pointed, a straight path as he fell backwards. Hawkeye instantly reached into his quiver for another two, drawing them into his bow as he turned and faced the shut doors, expecting instant retaliation for his intrusion.

Yet there was nothing, not even a whisper other than the echoes of the dead man's rifle and the smell of gun powder in the air. Moving cautiously forward, he slowly inched the door apart, only to be greeted by the sight of ten already incapacitated terrorists and a very smug Russian man.   
  
He lowered his bow.

"Really?" Clint groaned in disbelief, "Pietro, I had everything under control. And why couldn't they have called you in from the very start, why am I even here."

The slightly accented speedster laughed as he waved at the Avenger, "that is no way to greet the man who saved your life, Hawkeye."

As much as he disliked it, Clint could not deny that fact. Pushing him out of harm's way during Ultron's attack on Sokovia, Pietro Maximoff ended up with half a dozen bullet holes meant for Clint. It was only due to the presence of their helicarrier in the nearby vicinity and the medical facilities they had on board were they were able to save the young man. Not an easy task considering the amount of times he flatlined during the twenty hour operation. Clint was there throughout the entire operation, waiting, dreading in the hallways of the operating room. Along with his sister that looked like as though she would burst into tears at any given moment.

Yet it seemed that the two of them were a lot stronger than he thought, a lot more so. Pietro returned from the verge of death, and while it prevented him from using his powers, or even moving in the slightest for a short period of time, the effects of that which gave him his speed, ensured his body a faster recover as well.

It did not take long for the three of them to grow close, as he quickly took them both under his wing, being the first to suggest them as candidates for the current Avengers program. After much judgement and trials, he was there, proudly so on the day the two of them were initiated into the Avengers.

"Where are the hostages?" The sharpshooter asked as he made his way towards a fallen terrorist, he could feel the man's feeble pulse, but he was not going to be conscious for some time, "did you at least interrogate them before you… Whatever it is you do."

"Actually, what is it you do?” He asked curiously, “punch them at super speed?"

"Something like that," the fastest man alive grinned, "the hostages are at the helipad, they are being airlifted out of here. And don't worry, we found their boss, he's over there too. With my sister."

Knowing what she did to his teammates and once having experienced the horrifying effects of being mind controlled, Clint could only shudder at the thought of what Wanda had in mind for the pitiful terrorist. While she was able to enter one's mind and reveal their innermost thoughts, it was not without unpleasantness. They had to deal with the intrusion, the presence of another digging through their innermost thoughts.

"Let's go," there was a gush of wind, sending papers scattering as the Russian shot out of the room, before quickly returning and skidding to a stop in front of him. "I forgot, you're slow. Do you want a lift?"

Raising an eyebrow, Clint could only shake his head at how awkwardly embarrassing it would be.

"We’ll walk."

ooOOoooOOoo

The images were like photographs in an album, but with a lot more violence and death than the average choice. Her eyes glowed red, brightly so in the pouring night as her hands tightly gripped onto the side of the man twice her size. The heavily tattooed man whimpered, tears mixing with his falling drool as he muttered ineligibly, as the Scarlet Witch tore through his mind, looking for the one that hired him for this job.

She quickly found her target, leaving the quivering man in a fetal position as she released him to the care of the two agents responsible for his transport. She felt no pity, no remorse for the moaning figure. She saw the things he had done, through his own eyes the ones he killed, tortured, raped. She used a little bit more strength than necessary during her _interrogation,_ more than the usual amount required. She knew that the selfish need to punish the man for what he had done was not of the attributes the Avengers were looking for, but still, he deserved it.

Looking towards the two that just arrived at the ship's bridge, a small grin grew at the edge of her lips. She accompanied them both as they headed towards the Quinjet, preparing to head home as they watched a dozen heavily armed man breaching into the lower levels of the ship, trying to draw out any remaining terrorists in hiding.

"So," Clint turned towards the younger female, "Tony told me about the orb that you found, the… things that you experienced? What is that all about?"

"I don't know," Wanda shook her head at the only Avenger whose mind she failed to enter, "I really don't know."

"It's really hard to explain, our powers… We weren't born with it, we were experimented on, granted abilities from items not from our own world. Powers that we were never meant to truly understand. You know that I can briefly manipulate matter, turning them into bolts of energy and of my ability to enter another's mind, to see what lies beneath their façade, to implant my own thoughts or… ideas."

"Brainwashing them."

"Yes, brainwashing them. But along with those, I also have… visions. Those I can't control, they could come or go at any given moment and I would see things, things that you would not believe even if I tried telling you. I am not talking about seeing the future, of who is going to become president or next week's lottery numbers. Instead, I see countless universes, vibrant worlds, stars as brilliant and as many as the lights we hang on our walls during festivals. I see different worlds, of things passed and things to come, I see monsters, ones like the Chitauris you've fought, others nothing but darkened tentacles without form."

"Initially, I thought of them as nothing but hallucinations, perhaps a way my human mind dealt with the inhumane abilities I had. The visions were like… photographs, or seconds of mumbled video. I could see them, but I wasn't there, it was like I was looking through an old photo, or a telescope."

"But that day… that was different. It wasn't a vision, I was there. One moment I was in New York, the other, I felt the world of another beneath my feet. It was nothing like my previous visions, I was actually there Clint," she said excitedly, "I moved, walked inside of my vision. I saw things, death, destruction, I saw two men fighting for reasons I did not know."

"And then…" she looked away for a moment, "everything was gone. Not gone as in that I could no longer see the vision, but be destroyed, obliterated. Then I was drifting through space when I came across… something. Dark, black, formless. I have never felt more fear in my life, it was as though the thing was drawn towards me, I could not move, could not breathe. I thought I was going to die."

"Then it appeared, burning the darkness off me with its light" she lightly shrugged, "whatever it is, it saved me. I understand Tony's paranoia, I mean, I was in his brain before after all, and especially with what happened with Ultron, but…" She looked towards the person that was like her mentor, her voice slightly softer than usual, "I don't think it's… evil."

"I think it's-"

They were interrupted by the comlink of the Quinjet buzzing to life, a slightly distorted voice on the other end, "Mr Barton, Mr Stark requires you back at the Stark Towers immediately, along with the Maximoff twins."

"Is it the orb?" She blurted out, nudging the Avenger out of the way as she pressed onto the comlink.

"Yes. He told me not to say anything more until he can see the three of you in person."


	3. Chapter 3

She pulled at the edges of his collar, attempting to wake him from his slumber. He did not respond. His eyes were opened, as blue as the skies themselves yet nothing remained of his humanity, less a mind behind his vacant stare. She shook even harder, only to have his vacuous eyes rolling in her direction, ones that no longer saw. She screamed at her brother, as tiny clenched fists pummeled into his unresponsive chest.

Tears streaked down the side of her cheeks as she buried her face against his, only to be torn away by an unfamiliar sound as the entire world around her shook. One that thundered from all corners, that rumbled the landscape around her. The heavy fluttering grew ever closer and as she looked up, her eyes widened upon the view of a darkened canvas, the evening's orange hue fully blackened by the hundreds, the thousands of colossal dragons that reduced the skies to an enclosed black.

Their thunderous roars grew ever deafening as majestic wings sliced through the New York skyline, their armored scales glistening in the reflection of the settling sun. Glasses shattered in their wake, as millions of bewildered eyes stared upon the intruding creatures with disbelief. The growing sense of panic was underwhelming, for none knew of their intents, the people of this Earth knew not of the reason for Kronnos' arrival.

But she did, she knew of what he would bring forth, she saw the world he had torn asunder. Yet there was little she could do but scream, as the world around her turned into fire.

ooOOooOOoo

She jerked awake, her breathing erratic as she tried to gather her surroundings, she could not move, her limbs restricted by heavy binds. The world around her shook precariously, as reddened lights flashed constantly around her. She tore at the straps that held her down, only to be stilled by the touch of a leathered glove against her shoulder. Wanda Maximoff looked to her left, into the eyes of her concerned mentor, they were still aboard the Quinjet.

"Nightmare? Vision?"

She shook her head, "I don't… know." Resting her head back, she tried to still her unsteady breathing, "perhaps the mixture of the two."

"What did you see?" The older man asked his visibly shaken companion, "I've seen you have visions before, but never were they so… intense."

"I never once died in my visions," she muttered in response, "at least until now. It felt so real, the pain, the suffocating heat. The screams that I did not realize were mine until the very end." She rubbed at the back of her forearm, the image of fire streaking across her skin still burnt fresh in her mind.

"What killed-"

"By dragons," she managed a weak smile in his direction, as though even she was amused by how ridiculous her predicament was, "Clint, I was killed by dragons."

ooOOooOOoo

It happened most suddenly. In the first minute, the few of them on that level were mostly preoccupied amongst themselves, the two scientists were again arguing upon the topic were they stuck unto while the Super Soldier was standing by his lonesome, gazing out upon the city skyline that sat below the Stark Tower.

In the next, the entire building itself tremored. The floors beneath them shook, almost wobbled as though they were standing on the backs of an angry creature without reasoning.

Steve Rogers fell to his knees, lowering himself to the ground in order to find a better center of gravity, an instinctual movement, born from his years of trench warfare, reminding him of an earlier time, of exploding mortars and artillery shells. Objects fell all around them, the pounding beneath their feet grew stronger, the walls were shrieking as cracks appeared along the edges of the glass panels that surrounded the lab. They climbed upwards, loudly so before exploding outwards, uncountable pieces of sharpened glass that shot towards the lounge area.

All it took was a single split second for him to register the scenario before him and react, Steve leapt to his right, using the coffee table's momentum to propel himself towards the other side of the sofa. His feet quickly planted against one end, before pushing it towards the opposite direction with a surge of strength. The chair flew towards the two defenseless scientists, allowing them to quickly duck behind its cushioned surface before the shards tore into its fabric, right as the Super Soldier crouched downwards, his shield instantly at the ready.

He could hear the dull echoes as the glass collided harmlessly against his shield before popping back up and scanning the area around them, "you alright guys?"

"A little too close," Tony Stark muttered, staring at a particularly long shard of glass that tore through the sofa's surface and penetrated the walls behind him, inches away from where he now sat. "Was that an earthquake?" Pulling himself back up onto his feet, he tapped onto his watch, "Friday, tower's structural integrity? Do we need to evacuate?"

"No sir," a cool female voice responded, coming in from the undamaged speakers installed inside of the room, "Integrity at 100%." There was a slight pause before the newly implemented A.I that replaced Jarvis continued, "is something the matter, sir?"

"What? Did you not feel it?" He pointed towards the carnage left by the explosion, "how do you explain this-" His voice broke in the middle of his sentence, open mouthed as though his words were caught in the middle of his throat. The pieces of glass that were once embedded into the walls behind him were now glowingly white, its once transparent surface now a whitened opaque.

Not a single piece of razor sharp glass remained, instead dozens of whitened objects now stood where the former struck, held firmly in place by the impact of its previous form. He reached towards one, only for it to disintegrate at the contact of his touch, to fall into countless pieces of white that drifted harmlessly onto the floors beneath them.

"I do not understand sir," the female voice replied, "I do not sense any damage nor unusual activity inside of this room."

"Snow…" his voice was almost a whisper as he ignored the A.I, instead leaning downwards and pressing his fingers against the softened piles of white, "how…?" He did not manage to finish his question, as thunder struck in the next. The room was abruptly lit by a brilliant flash of electricity, as the rumble of an incoming storm thundered, yet it was not the arrival of a certain Norse god.

He could see the gathering of greyed clouds, of flashes as lightning struck within its shrouded vicinity, a brewing storm.

As Tony took a step back from the ominous phenomenon, it started to rain, inside of the building itself.

It started with a few splashes of water, as though someone held a tiny fan against a flowing tap, which soon grew to a light drizzle. Most peculiar however, was that neither one of them got wet. He held an arm out towards the cascading droplets of water, only to see them phase through the flesh of his skin.

Tony looked towards his companions, expecting to see an equal amount of confusion, only to follow their gaze instead towards the center of the storm, to where a floating orb now glowed in resonance.

"What the hell…" He did not manage to finish his sentence, as the one standing across from him quickly interrupted.

"We have to shut it down now," none argued with the urgency in the Captain's voice, "we need to –"

Another flash, as a force field of sorts resonated from within the orb, it expanded outwards, consuming everything in its vicinity. It engulfed the men in the next room and as it did, everything ceased to be, in that very moment itself.

ooOOooOOoo

_Darkness…_

He tried to move but it was as though he had forgotten how. His arms, his legs, even his eyes lacked a response, it felt like he was fully encased in the frozen embrace of an icy grave. He was reminded of something that kept him up on most nights, the fear of having been trapped in the Atlantic ocean for all those years without losing consciousness, to be imprisoned within the ice, yet have his sanity remained. Panic struck through his very essence, he started to struggle, to will himself away from the darkness… but nothing changed. He was held captive, in the darkness.

...

_... ..._

... ... ...

_What is your captivity… compared to mine._

As he heard the words of another beside him, he could feel the entirety of his body being ripped into shreds, as his screams tore anguishingly, resonating into the nothingness around him. Then it stopped, as abruptly as it came, the Captain falling until he crashed upon the unseen surface beneath his feet.

_"Look at me."_

His body trembled in defiance, his eyes were clamped shut yet they were ripped open in the next, as magnified sense tore into his very being. There was nothing he could do but soundlessly scream, as saliva ran down the side of his gaped jaw, as bloodshot eyes looked upon his tormentor.

A single man stood above him, staring down with eyes barren of humanity _._

_"What… is eighty years… compared to an eternity?"_

He exhaled, his eyelids were barely opened, seemingly bored already of the specimen knelt before him, turning as the sound of fluttering robes signaled his departure, leaving the Soldier in a world of darkness.

"W-Wait." Steve Rogers tried to shout, but all he managed was a soft and desperate croak, his clenched fist shivering as he slowly pulled himself up to his feet, his trembling hand wiping away the spit at the side of his lips. "Who are you…?"

"Why did you attack us? What is your reason for-"

A shimmering light emerged around the unnamed figure's outstretched arm, moments before an unseen pulse of energy flung the weakened man in the opposite direction, his body instinctively curling into a ball as he crashed painfully into the unlit surface.

_"I do not have to answer a man so stricken by fear."_

_"Who thinks he can save the world, yet whose every action is the result of-"_

"I… I am with fear, yes." The voice interrupted the leaving figure, "But do not mistake my fear for cowardness."

"You… you do not get to leave until I know what the hell you're doing here!"  
_  
"Ah…"_ The slightest of a curl formed at the edge of the figure's lip, _"it would seem that I am mistaken."_ He watched as the bloodied man yet again got up to his feet, his arm bent at an unnatural angle, broken by the fall. _"Your will outshines the fear that lives within you."  
_  
_"You would fight me, yes? To stop me from whatever it is you think I will bring forth?"  
_  
_"Show me,"_ as the unknown figure muttered those words, the Avenger felt a surge of adrenaline tore through his entire frame, as his broken arm instantly reattached itself, as all of his injuries subsided as though they were non-existent in the very first place. His fingers reached towards his face, only to feel hardened fabric in its place, he was not wearing the suit moments before, the outfit of his heroic persona, Captain America.

 _"Oh yes… how can I forget,"_ the man lifted up an unclenched fist, before a metallic object came forth from the skies above them, " _your shield._ "

It flew in the direction of the unarmed Avenger, clanging heavily into his arms, its familiarity a comfort as he locked it onto the side of his glove.

_"Show me… your strength."_

The soldier started to run, building up momentum with each step as he shot towards his target, his boots leaving the ground in a single leap, vaulting into the air as he swung his arm in the intended direction. His shield sliced through the air between them both, vibrations could be felt in the trails left by the spinning blur, only for the figure to step to his right, so quickly it was as though he flickered. The circular piece of vibranium shot harmlessly through where the man stood moments ago as Captain America fell back towards the ground, yet his speed did not falter.

He came up to the nameless figure, his punches and his kicks were infused with superhuman strength, yet never once did they strike true. His opponent dodged every single move, his body almost floating fluidly through the space between each attack, unnaturally as though liquid bending through a sharp pass, before a single palm pressed against the Captain's armored chest. A second passed before an eruption of energy propelled him backwards, his boots skidding across the floorless surface.

_"Is that all?"_

"Not even close."

It took just a few short steps for them to again be in arm's range, but it was like fighting a mind reader who could predict his every single move, the super soldier simply could not land even a single hit. His opponent could feel the pressure in the air with each thrown punch, but as powerful as they were, not a single one found their mark. He dodged a straight jab, watching as the man's armored fist tore into the uninhabited space next to him.

" _Is that all you hav-_ "

It was then he noticed the blinking red light on the man's glove, realizing what happened only moments before the returning shield slammed fully into his back, staggering him forward, right into Captain America's clenched fist. The full strength of an enhanced human ploughed into the side of the figure's face. It lurched him in the opposite direction, yet he did not fall. As he looked back up, there was but a single smile.

" _Impressive._ "

ooOOooOOoo

She was dressed fully in black. They were crying all around her, but she was not. She could hear the whispers, the rumors of the child that cared not for her parent's death, that did not feel sadness nor anguish at the loss of a loved one. Perhaps it was what drawn them to her in the first place, the lack of visible emotions as a child, except they were wrong, exceptionally wrong. She did feel, just not for the ones that abused her, that starved her, that sent beatings her way even when she had done nothing wrong.

Her parents were not like most, they did not have normal nine to five jobs, they did not have cute stories of how they met and fell in love. They were both spies for the highest echelons of the Russian intelligence service, the perfect male and female specimen, forced to breed in order to create the ultimate weapon, a soldier that would not just be trained from a young age, but the genetic offspring of those who killed hundreds for their Motherland.   
  
They had great things planned for her, assassinations and missions of utmost secrecy amongst others. Yet before they could be carried out, the USSR fell. The various intelligence divisions were fully dissolved in its aftermath, the new government wanting nothing to do with the spies of old, and there they were. Two dangerous spies, forcefully retired with a daughter neither one of them wanted.

She turned into their punching bag of sorts, maltreated by parents who rather have her dead, a child that was nothing but a reminder of their once glorious past. She was not even allowed to go to school, instead they crammed her into a tiny closet space beneath their staircase, where she would spend most of her days looking at the falling dust from-

She never had a room beneath the stairs, it was just a dusty storage place for old luggage and files. She did not know where that memory came from, her room was across her parents', at least until the day she returned home from one of their errands and found them both lying in a pool of their own blood. She did not scream, nor did she panic. Somehow, she felt a sense of serenity, more calm that she ever was. She simply walked over to the phone and called the proper authorities.

There were dozens of theories of how her parent's deaths came to be, home intrusion or robbery gone wrong, a suicide pact or perhaps even the new intelligence division clearing out the old, yet neither one of those were justified, nor proven true.

Their deaths were simply never solved, not that anyone really cared.

They picked her up shortly after her parent's funeral, telling her that they were friends of the two. They took her with them as they left, the bustling London crowd, the platform, the train ride was longer than she expected, it-

 _She never left Russia, and there were no train rides._ It was by car, she remembered watching the falling snowflakes as they drove along the empty roads, towards the outskirts of the tiny Russian village that they ended up at. She remembered seeing the symbol of a Hydra drawn at the entrance of a nondescript building that they eventually entered. She remembered the darkness, the cold that enveloped them all, the other ten girls that were already in wait, that huddled together in order to escape the growing chills.

She remembered her first two friends, a female with hazel brown hair, a gingered boy, they were… _No, they were not her friends._ She had no friends in that place. She remembered the speech given on the very first day, the houses that they would be sorted into, depending on their- _There were no houses._ She started to become confused, of the overlapping memories that clouded her mind, but they spared her no reprieve, they flooded the edges of her vision, filling them with images she could not contain.

She remembered the speech that they gave, the headmistress, of how only a single one of the girls would leave this school alive. That the other ten would surely die by the end of their trainings, of how only the strongest one that remained, would become the ultimate spy. To fight for the order of new Russia under a name passed down for generations, Natasha Romanova, the Black Widow of Russia.

... ...

... ... ...

_"Please, please no!"_

Her eyes flickered before they focused onto the scene before her, a hooded figure laid crumpled on the ground in an empty cavern, his body twitching, his limbs all twisted at unnatural angles. _"Please,"_ the hood fell backwards, revealing the quivering face of a hardened man, dozens of scars ran down the side of his face, along with tattoos that she knew signified power, she recognized him, a Death Eater that had taken the lives of hundreds. _Death Eaters…_ _how did she know that term?_

_"Please… don't…"_

The man pleaded and begged, tears and spit streaming down his pitiful face, words and actions nor fitting of someone like him, _"you can't do this. You're… you're you! You're supposed to be the good guy, you're…"_ She felt her own arm extending outwards, a movement that she could not stop, she noticed her gloved fingers, the sticklike object she held in her grip. She felt an unnatural anger rising from deep within her, a rage that could not be quenched, a rage… that was like a memory itself.

_"You can't! You're Har-"_

She felt her lips moving, yet could not hear the words that she muttered. She felt the surge of energy, the green flash that shot forth from the weapon that she held, impacting the man squarely in his chest, sending the crumpled body rolling across the cavern floor.

As his lifeless eyes rolled upwards, she felt something intensely swirling within her, emotions stronger than unlike anything she had ever felt. Yet as soon as she was engulfed by the sensations, there was but a single moment before everything simply vanished. Gone, like as though something deep inside of her no longer existed, perished upon the actions of what she had done.

 _The first man she killed. She did it only because….  
_  
_No,_ she shook her head, her eyes clenched shut. The first person she had killed… It wasn't a man. It was... a girl.

The memory was still fresh in her mind, something she tried to forget, yet never forgotten. It was only a few years after her induction into the "academy", she was barely in her teens when it happened.

They were down to six, around half of the initial girls remained.

She was bathing one day, alone in the washrooms when she heard the sounds of approaching footsteps, the quiet squelching of naked soles against the drenched bathroom floor. She knew of their intents even before they arrived. Luck played an important role in her survival, working up quite a bit of lather from the provided soap, her body was entirely slippery when they reached out for her.

The one that grabbed her from behind did not manage to keep a firm grasp, her slithery form allowing her to slide downwards, only to quickly shoot back upwards into the face of her first attacker, the back of her skull crashing fully into the other girl's nose. She heard a crunching sound as the first went down, but her focus was already on the other.

They struggled for a long time, but she eventually got the upper hand, they found themselves in the middle of the bathroom, she was straddling the other girl, her palms wrapped tightly around her neck. The girl's chest started to heave, her eyes were getting bloodshot, her hands clawed at the area around them both, yet she did not let go. Something inside of her snapped and she squeezed even tighter. When they eventually pried her away from the lifeless female afterwards, she felt nothing inside of her that resembled remorse.

She expected to be punished, perhaps even killed for her actions, but it was the complete opposite. They commended her, praised her for a job well done. Never once had anyone told her that she did a good job, not her parents, not the teachers. Until now, until when she took her first life…

_"What a deranged world..."_

She blinked, the presence of another startled her. She was no longer relieving her own memories, now the other stood beside her, watching as she did. "Who are you-" Before she finished her sentence, the world around her spun, colors warped vibrantly around her, disorientatingly before she regained her balance. Almost instantly, she staggered to the side, expelling the contents of her stomach into the snow covered field.

Standing back up, she noticed the dilapidated buildings around them, the grim looking woods that held no life, the dirtied snow beneath their feet, she recognized exactly where the person took her, the institute where she spent most of her teenage years. She never once came back after her graduation, it was not something one reminisced about, nor a place one revisits. Even more so after her betrayal of HYDRA, her ensuring decision to join SHIELD instead.

"Why did you bring me here?"

The cloaked figure raised his arms, as the doors to the building opposite of them slowly started to swing outwards, its rusted hinges twisting for the first time in years, as unexposed dust swept outwards into the frigid air. Silence… before the sounds of marching feet, as the broken and bloodied faces of a dozen Russian girls soon came into view, along with the hundreds of older men and women that stood behind the few.

_"We're here… to see your demons."_

They were not of this world, their screams chillingly bloodcurdling as they started to run in the direction of the mortified Spy, who could do nothing but watch as the ones whose deaths she was responsible for, descended upon her.

ooOOooOOoo

The Quinjet touched down shortly after dusk, the luxurious Stark tower's helipad offering a commute-less journey into the heart of the city. The on-board navigation systems automatically synced with the tower's new A.I, allowing the ship a smooth landing as the mechanical gears locked nosily outside. The three of them quickly departed from the jet, glad to leave its mostly cramped quarters.

"Shower and sleep…" She muttered to no one else in particular, the previous night's events finally taking its toll, the bumpy ride back did not help much either. There was a whoosh of air as her brother sped down the runway connecting the helipad and the building's interior, reminding her once again of how much she would have loved to have his speed instead. Yet seconds after he dashed into the building, there was another gust of wind as he returned to the approaching two, with a dumbfounded and ghastly look across his eyes.

"You two better take a look at this."

Quickly following the two over towards the closed doors, she felt the sudden blast of warmer air as she exited the freezing New York night and entered the warm atmosphere of the Stark tower. It took her less than a second to notice what caught her brother's attention.

Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow.

She stood directly across the hallway, a single hand gripping onto the doorknob that led into Stark tower's main lounge. There was nothing out of the ordinary for the Avenger to be here as well, other than the fact that she was completely frozen in place, unmoving, inanimate. It was as though someone hit her with one of those cartoon freeze guns she saw as a child, except she was still warm. They could feel her pulse, but she was unresponsive to their touch, they simply could not wake her up.

"Come in, Capt, come in, anyone?" Only static could be heard from the intercom linked in Hawkeye's glove, "you don't think they're… frozen as well?"

"Only one way to find out," Wanda replied, gently nudging the older female's grip away from the doorknob and slightly inching it forward, allowing her to slip quietly into the building's lounge, where the rest of the Avengers team stood silently by, unmovingly so.

All three of them were in mid action, their bodies frozen in their previous movements, their eyes still wide open. Captain America was standing in the center of the room, his shield arm forward in the midst of throwing his weapon, the other two stood behind a hastily moved sofa, with a mixture of both apprehension and alarm across their unmoving features.

Slowly she tiptoed into the room, towards where the Captain stood. She looked in the direction of where he was about to throw his shield, only to realize that it was the orb that she brought to them the day before.

Except it was now glowing brilliantly, floating in the air. It seemed to have noticed her presence, as a coruscating brightness flushed over her in response, embracing her in a new wave of warmness.

"What the hell?" The voice came from behind her.

She looked towards the entrance, noticing the two other that followed her into the room. Yet as they did, the warmness was instantly replaced by a haunting chill, as though the orb itself had sensed their intrusion.

"Wait, don't come any further!"

Her warning did not come in time, as another wave erupted from the floating orb. She watched as it passed harmlessly through her, yet as it caught the other two, they were instantly stilled in place, replicating the exact conditions of the Avengers before them.

She turned back towards the orb, only to discover that it no longer was. The once radiant light that it emitted, now left the room in a shrouded darkness. She focused her eyes into the unlit lab, as reddened energy glowed at the edges of her fingertips.

The orb was no more, and in its place, a cloaked figure now stood.

She recognized him, the man that Kronnos' was looking for, the one that eventually brought the madman to his knees.

She spoke his name from memory, memories that belonged not to her.

"Harry... Potter."


	4. Chapter 4

As he opened his eyes, he saw his friends and his family, he saw past lovers and of future children. He saw the ones loyal beyond reproach, and the ones whose betrayal forever shook the foundations of which he stood upon. He saw a tiny little cottage, built upon the edge of a charming little seaside town. Wind chimes that rang with the salty ocean breeze, the familiar aroma of homemade pies. An overturned miniature bike, undoubtedly abandoned by the boy who detected his mother's cooking in the air. He saw an opened door, laughter that greeted his entrance. He saw his sand clustered shoes, left by the welcoming mat as he searched for the building's occupants. He saw his child, along with the one he loved with all of his heart. He saw the their nearing bodies, felt her hair brushing across his cheeks, the taste of her lips, her scent, her embrace. Imprinted forever within him.

He saw his own happiness, and with it, he saw his own downfall.

He saw pain, suffering, he saw of their death. The two of whom he held most dear.

He saw the day itself, he could not focus, could barely think, much less cast a defensive spell. They could have killed him, could have spared him the misery of watching everything that he held dear torn away. But no, they wanted him alive for a reason; they wanted him to suffer, to feel agony beyond belief, beyond anything he had ever experienced, to wish for nothing more than the sweet embrace of death itself.

Members of Voldemort's dark army, loyal even upon his death. For years they've operated underground, for years they have sought after the ones responsible for the Dark Lord's demise.

And now, they've found him… they've found his family.

He saw himself being held against the wooden floors, their casted stuns immobilized him, preventing him from tearing away his fearful gaze. His desperate eyes mirrored the ones of his love, inches apart. He tried to scream, to plead, to even beg. But all he managed was a pained croak, heated tears streaming down the sides of his face as they forced his wife to kneel before him. A kitchen knife, one that was given to them both as a wedding present, it pressed against her cheeks, its sharpened tip digging into flesh as blood pooled around her wound. They trailed down the side of her face, along the contours of her neck.

They stained her clothing crimson, more blood than humanly possible from a single cut. He knew there was a curse embedded within the weapon itself, casted solely for the purpose of torture. He could see the pain in her eyes, the panic. Yet she remained calm, unbelievable so even as her body tremored in agony. She did not scream, nor was there any satisfaction granted to her tormentors. She was strong, perhaps even stronger than he was.

But mostly, she remained unbroken for the sake of their son. Their child was held in a corner by another one of their assailants, a huge bruise on the side of his cheeks where they had slapped him. A young boy who was barely able to tell the differences between a jinx and a charm. But still, he bravely defended his mother, though ultimately a futile attempt. The boy's eyes, as green as his was, flared defiantly at their captors.

He looked at the one who held his wife down, the scarred figure with dozens of tattoos running across the entirety of his skull. Ink fueled with magical properties, drawn in shapes and symbols of ancient runes. Permanently desecrating his own features, it was an action done only by a man hungry for power unobtainable by conventional means. He would never forget the Death Eater's gleaming smile, the sight of rotten teeth as he plunged the blade downwards into her exposed clavicle, all the way until the knife's hilt.

He saw himself howling, struggling against the few that held him still, his body wrecked in pain as he tried to defy the effects of the casted stun. But there was nothing he could do, nothing as he watched the man repeatedly thrust the blade into his wife, over and over again. When her unmoving form finally slumped lifelessly down beside him in a pool of her own blood, her dead eyes rolling in his direction, he begged, prayed for them to spare his child.

They laughed in response.

He tried to tell the boy to be strong, that he was going to get them both out of it. His son believed him, trusted no one more than his father. He was a hero to the kid, and it was perhaps the only time he ever lied to his child. He tried to reassure his boy, even as the Death Eaters laughed maniacally around him. But he could not hide the shakiness in his voice, the fear. It shook with the undeniable truth of it all, they were both going to die. He tried to look away, but the Imperius curse forced him otherwise.

They forced him to look, even as was reduced to a sobbing mess. His own child soon dead in front of him.

At that point, he no longer struggled, he knew none were coming to save them. He was betrayed, by ones loyal beyond reproach.

Other than the five closest to him, the five he could trust above all others, none other knew of where they were. He retired after the war, after his defeat of the Dark lord. They relocated him and his family to a tiny coast city thousands of miles away from Britain, to a place where none knew of his identity.

Everything was done in secrecy, no traces of their departure nor arrival were ever documented. None knew of where they were heading except for the few he trusted that helped with the process. With dozens of charms that hid their identities and protected their home from outsiders with ill intent, there could only be a single solution.

Betrayal.

He learnt something else that day, it was also because of them, he learnt of his immortality. They did not grant him the mercy of the killing curse, it would have been too simple, too easy an escape. Instead, he was inflicted with the cruciatus curse for days, as agony drove him to the verge of insanity. They severed the tendons of his limbs, they blinded him, took away his ability of speech and when they reduced him into an agonizing cripple upon the verge of death, they apparated him into a cave. Located so deeply underground, none would ever find his depraved corpse.

Then, they left him to die.

Except he never did.

He lived, for neither of them knew the true meaning of his prophesied strength. For years he laid there as his body began to heal, wrecked with such thirst and hunger that he begged for death, to be freed of his bodily suffering, to see his family once more. But death never came. Even as his body began to heal over the years, as his scars faded into memories, he was still trapped. In a cave that nullified magic, that was without food nor water.

And for years, Harry Potter screamed into the darkness, and one day, the darkness screamed back.

A charred shadow of darkened magic, formed with nothing but his unbridled fury, his anger, his wrath. A pulsating orb of darkened energy, the moist cavern air crackling with chaotic magic as blackened entrails carved into the earth around him. It expanded with each passing second, drawn towards him like moths to a flame. It enveloped his frail form, wrapping around him as though a cocoon of dark intent. He closed his eyes, he did not fight, did not resist the succumbing darkness.

And when he opened his eyes once more, a trail of mangled bodies were left behind. Twisted limbs and broken bones, the terrified expressions remained even upon the Death Eaters' demise. He hunted down every last one of them, an unstoppable force of vengeance. The malicious darkness consumed him, he was no longer controlling, but controlled by the very magic itself.

His son was the one that brought him back. A picture of him and his mother, with smiles that could brighten even the darkest of nights.

And when he tore his gaze from the faded image, he realized that he was no longer fitting of being called a father. His humanity was left behind in that forgotten cave, what remained was nothing but a monster. He sought a path out of his darkened stupor that night, fighting against the very magic that latched as though a parasitic symbiote. He concentrated the vileness into a single spot, and upon it's convergence, forged the very darkness into a single ebony ring.

The first of many rings that would hold great power, that one day, the being known as Kronnos will use to destroy their world.

ooOOOooOOOoo

He opened his eyes once more, but this time, he was in actuality. Two bolts of reddened energy lanced towards him, an attack unlike anything he had ever seen, modern or of old. Harry Potter raised his arm, casting a defensive spell he used more times than he could possibly remember, an almost natural instinct. But unlike the powerful fields of nullifying magic he was supposed to erect with ease, the bolts smashed into a cracked shell of his spell. Heat washed over him, forcing him down onto his knees.

"What- What did you do to them?

A female's voice, he could sense the fear and uncertainty in her approach. Harshly thrown into his world, he was both unsure of her intentions and of the answer she demanded. Through his muddled mind, he saw the images of those he previously encountered... the ones she asked for.

"Answer me," her hands glowed red with energy as did her eyes.

"Legilimency," he replied as he looked upwards from his crouched form. The reddened glow slightly dimmed as the woman lowered her arms, her eyes abruptly widening at her first proper glance of the man. Her surprise was unsettling and for a moment, he was almost horrified by an extremely appalling thought. Remembering the facial deformation of the first being to be resurrected after his death, he quickly reached towards his face, his fingers thankfully brushing across the existence of a nose. He sighed in relief.

Noticing the the woman's apparent confusion, he wondered of this world's magic and age. It was ever-changing in his, from the ones now known as spells of old to modern varieties. Even fusions of both. The ones he mainly used back during his days in Hogwarts, they have mostly faded into obscurity. The magic that existed in his final hours were vastly different than those of old, especially since the discovery of "intent." A new form of magic that quickly dwarfed the old, spells that were fueled by the intentions of their caster.

The velocity and the strength, decided by the caster's wrath, their fury. Their savagery, their frenzy. What were stunning and disarming spells in the face of magic that could topple buildings, that could rip an entire being into shreds. The darker the intent, the more powerful the magic. It was a recipe for madness, an invitation for the ones that would rise because of their darkened nature, of the ones he had fought during his immortality.

In his time, spells were then classified into three different categories of magic, neutral, light and dark. The former would involve spells that do not require a caster's intent, from levitating objects to simple apparation. Dark magic on the other hand, harnessed destruction and devastation, seeking to tear all asunder, it's strength fueled by the caster's own psyche and nature. Light is of its polar opposite, spells that were fueled by the caster's goodwill, healing and defensive spells, a category of magic without a single form of offense. One a sword and the other a shield.

The darkness was not of natural evolution, the existence of dark magic was one day abruptly thrown into his world. He believed on the very night of his escape, that he was the first to bring such darkness into his world. A malicious force from another universe, drawn into his, a force that he created, that he embraced into order to break free of his eternal prison. But with the darkness, there came the light, an almost miraculous balance, as though nature itself sought to fight against the evil.

"Legilimec... cy?" The Avenger known as the Scarlet Witch looked down onto the crouching figure, her brain exploding with distress. She did not know what to do, she was completely lost. The only positive thing going for her would be that the kneeling man seemed as confused as she was, at least from what she was seeing. She noticed his eyes darting curiously around their surroundings, seemingly unsure of where he was. She returned her attention towards him, the man looked slightly older than she was, in his late twenties she assumed. With a headful of unkempt hair and a powerful jaw, there was almost nothing prominent about the man, other than his striking glare. She had never felt more helpless in her entire life.

"Yes," the man replied as he slowly got up onto his feet, "legilimency. The act of navigating through the many layers of one's mind."

"Or... to put it crudely, mind reading," he added in when noticing her lack of understanding, "though it is a lot more than simply reading one's mind."

Legilimency was an important chapter in his life, stemming from his first experience of Voldemort's invasion of his mind. While the spell itself was used by many, for both interrogation and of darker purposes, there were no other that could penetrate the minds of so many at the exact same time. "It was a... defensive mechanism of sorts. I had to know if I was surrounded by allies or by foe."

"By entering their minds, I can quickly eliminate the need to find that out for myself. There are little things that you can hide from legilimency, and the ones that you bury so deep within yourself, it's only a matter of time before they're unraveled."

"Where am I?" He quickly asked, interrupting her line of thoughts.

"Stark Tower," she replied almost too quickly. Seeing his eyebrows raising slightly at her answer, she added in, "Manhattan."

"Ah. New York. The last time I've been to New York was over a hundr-" He caught himself before he finished, unwanting to digress from the matter at hand.

"Why are you here? What do you want?" Her voice was tensed as she asked, not sharing his bout of casualness, "let the rest of them go. I'm sure we can work something out, I-"

"I am already done with them." He voice was cold, stoic, before a cruel smile appeared across his lips, "but you, you on the other hand, you seemed to have slipped by unnoticed." A few seconds passed by awkwardly as Harry stared at the person in front of him, as though waiting for something to happen, only to be granted a bewildered look in return.

"Interesting," he muttered, "you've never heard of Legilimency, but you seemed to be skilled in Occlumency. I guess I just have to- "

He did not manage to finish his sentence before a reddened streak smashed into the center of his chest, propelling him off his feet, a fluttering of his robes as he slammed against the opposite walls. He grunted as the air was heavily knocked out of his lungs, his body crashing harmlessly onto the carpeted floors beneath him.

Wanda Maximoff looked down at her palms, almost surprised by what she had done. She wasn't a particularly violent person and she most definitely knew the repercussions of attacking an unarmed civilian. But the man who seemingly appeared out of thin air, she knew that he wasn't just an unarmed civilian. She knew that she had made the correct decision to put him down, that she was only protecting herself. Yet she felt strangely apologetic.

At the very moment of his collision, every single one of the frozen Avengers came back to life. It took just a few short seconds for them to regain their composure and within the next, they have surrounded the one responsible for their mental captivity.

ooOOOooOOOoo

The room was dark, briefly illuminated by the single bulb that rested above the table by the center. Harry had lost count of the hours spent seated in this very room, his hands cuffed to the desk in front of him. But he wasn't complaining, the silence gave him plenty of time to think, to reorganize his jumbled memories, to regain his seeping strength. He only looked up from his headful of darkened hair when the doors finally opened, revealing a tall, muscular man.

"The soldier," he spoke as the entering figure took his seat on the opposite end of the table. The man opened his mouth and began to speak, "my name is Captain Ste-"

"Steven Rogers of the Avengers initiative," the cuffed figure interrupted, "yes, I know. You've told me."

The man froze at the mention of their previous encounter. "That... We've fought... in whatever it was you did. We fought for hours, for days... It was in my mind, but it felt so real."

The soldier slammed his palm into the desk, a resounding boom that did not faze the other in the slightest. "What exactly did you do!? Is that your power? To freeze all of us and mess with our heads? What were you trying to accomplish?"

"Power?" Harry chuckled softly in response, his eyes closed with the realization of the world he had stepped into, how vastly different it was from his, "I guess you can say that."

"And as for your questions," he continued, "I do not know the answers to any of them, I do not know why I am here and I do not know what I am here for. What I do know, is that I am not your enemy." His eyes burrowed fiercely into the one seated across from him, both unwilling to cave in.

"I do not know where you're from," Steve Rogers said, "but where I am from, messing with our heads isn't exactly a polite way to say hi."

"It wasn't an intentional attack," Harry sighed, "it was the orb's defense mechanism, a way to tap into the minds of those around me and to determine their intent."

"The orb?"

"Yes, the orb. It's a manifestation of my magi-, well, my powers. It has the ability to travel through both time and space itself, shielding me from the destruction of my world."

"Your world?" There was empathy in the man's voice, but along with it still held suspicion and wariness, "are you not from Earth?".

"I am from Earth, but not exactly... yours. Mine was destroyed by a man named Kronnos, a being of evil whom I also believe survived the end of our world."

"A monstrosity that will descend upon yours." He spoke dispassionately, "it is only a matter of time."


	5. Chapter 5

"Steve?"

Jerking abruptly at the sound of his name, Steve Rogers felt himself instinctively reaching for the shield he carried along with him. His body was still on high alert, an unwanted rush accompanied jittery fingertips as opposed to his usual composed exterior. Something felt way off about the uninvited guest, something he couldn't exactly place his finger on. His body seemed to have agreed, or at least was still wary of their previous encounter, the recent surges of adrenaline getting him more wound up than he'd like to admit.

The intrusion of their minds, it affected them a lot stronger than Wanda's ever did. He fought the man for hours, for days. Even upon exhaustion he was unrelenting, believing himself to be the only one in-between humanity and a new force of evil, only to find out that just mere seconds have passed upon his re-emergence. What felt like days, the complete depletion of his strength, his will, it was nothing but an illusion inside of his head. A soldier from the 40s will never wrap his head around something like that, he couldn't help but to feel lost, to be way out of his league.

The gathering Avengers were all talking at once, assaulting him with more questions than he could have answered, until a unanimous voice was raised above all, Tony's, asking him what exactly should they do. He was the appointed leader, yet he couldn't be more unsure, uncertainty ravaged his mind, as he fought to keep the growing doubts from taking hold. He couldn't help but to wonder if it was an aftereffect of the man's power, or perhaps simply his true nature taking form.

"He told me that something else is approaching, something that caused the destruction of his world, and that-"

"Yes we all know that," Tony Stark rudely interrupted, a twinge of apparent sarcasm in his voice, "we all heard that from behind the one way mirror. What we want to know, is what do you think? Do you trust him? Because I sure as hell don't."

"He does not seem to be aggressive," Bruce Banner piped in, "or is at least hiding his true intentions for now." He spoke calmly, but they all heard the strain in his voice, the protruding veins by the side of his neck, the bloodshot eyes. The attack affected them all in different ways, some more than others.

"We should give him the benefit of the doubt," everyone around them could hear the apprehension in Steve's voice, his virtues clashing, to give the man a fair trial, or to become both judge and jury.

"No," Tony was adamant, he was growingly aggressive. "You saw what he is capable of. What if Wanda wasn't there? He could have been free to do whatever the hell he wants, we have no defence against something like that!"

"Still, we can't make a decision based on- "

"The hell we can't!" Fingers scrunched into Steve's clothing as Tony shoved him backwards, slamming the Captain against the walls behind them, "you did not see what I saw." A hung picture was knocked onto the ground, but neither's attention was diverted. Steve kept quiet in the face of the other's agitation, but his eyes were narrowed into slits, flaring and cold at the same time.

"He… I can't let him…"

Cursing loudly at their predicament, Tony released his grip, allowing the unspeaking soldier to straighten up his clothing, "Goddamn it Steve." He shook his head, a hand quickly brushing back a stray clump of loose hair, "I should go. I need a goddamn drink."

None of them stopped Tony Stark from leaving.

"He means well." The next voice that spoke up was soft, almost demure as though she was afraid of being offensive. Steve turned towards Wanda with somewhat of a forced smile, "I know."

"I don't blame him, none of us knows what we're getting into."

"I've looked into all your minds before, you have your demons," Wanda said before adding in quietly while looking towards the leaving Avenger, "some more than others."

"What did you see?" She asked, her eyes looked towards his delicately, searching for an answer beneath his impassive ones. "When he was in your head."

"Cold, dark, empty." His face was vacant, but she could feel the torrenting emotions beneath his blank stare, "he wanted me to feel what he felt. That my icy grave, that what haunted me for almost a century, was nothing but a comfort, a luxury compared to his own. Then, he wanted to test my will, my resolve. We fought, for days we fought."

"I understand now," he muttered, "I was never supposed to win. He was testing me, to see what would break first, my body or my will." He looked towards her, a small crack within his inscrutable exterior, "and what I'm afraid of… was that if you had not intervened, I… I just might have given up."

It was clear what was happening to the Captain, it haunted him, the fact that he had a limit, that he was pushed to a state where he couldn't go on further.

"I'm sorry." She thought for a moment before asking, "do you need my… help?"

His eyes held confusion for a brief moment, before shaking his head in response, "no. It's something I have to deal with. Wiping the memory or removing such thoughts is only a temporary fix. I have to overcome such hurdles myself."

The two of them fell quiet for a long time, with Bruce Banner leaning against the wall by their side, his face pressed into his palms. Black Widow was nowhere to be seen, and Hawkeye sat quietly to their side, rocking into his knees.

"Let me speak to him." She barely finished her sentence before two resounding no's headed in her direction. Her brother and her mentor, it was the first time they've spoken up since their reanimation.

"He is dangerous," Pietro was uncompromising.

"Yes, but he helped me. He saved me from whatever it was I encountered in my vision."

"How do you know it wasn't him doing it in the first place?" Clint Barton added in quickly, it wasn't entirely surprising for someone of his calibre to come to such conclusions, "that it wasn't him setting you up in the first place? Like you said about how he can't enter your mind like he did to ours, so perhaps he used a different technique and gave you those visions instead. Ones he concocted in order for you to trust him."

She had to admit that what he said made sense, that when faced with such an overwhelming possibility, there was little she could do to calm her nerves. Yet it did not deter her from the chance of speaking to the man, something was drawing her towards him. Something she couldn't explain to the others in this room, a bond. A bond that she herself was afraid of.

She understood both their fears, especially of her brother's protectiveness. Long before they met the Avengers, before they were even given powers, they've lived a vastly different life. One filled with constant danger, a life filled with more reasons to be afraid than not. In a constantly warring country, a second too slow, or a step to the wrong direction could have gotten them both killed. While things have changed since then, the primal part of the young man's mind was still screaming, still instinctively trying to survive.

"None of you are thinking straight," she said decisively, "I am the only one unaffected by him. Whatever it is you think you can achieve out here, it's not going to matter if I just go in and speak with him." She turned towards her brother, a brief flash of red in her eyes, "and don't stop me."

Leaving the corridor, she walked into the room connecting the makeshift cell and where the rest of the Avengers sat. It was like an interrogation box at a police station, two connected rooms, one for the suspect, the other for whoever it is to watch from behind a one way mirror.

She might have been filled with confidence, to have been assured of her own actions, but as she entered the viewing room, her collected form shuddered in uneasiness. As she moved towards the door, she could see the man in the other room look up, his eyes burrowing in her direction, impossibly so through the one way mirror, almost as though he knew she was there. She stiffened in worry, she was out of her depth, but it was too late to turn back now.

Her hands were trembling when she pressed her palm against the biometric scanner, before they were quickly placed to her side as the doors slid open. Stepping into the smaller room, she waited for the doors to close before approaching the seated figure.

She sat opposite of him, "Harry Potter." She said his name once more, the words imprinted into her mind. It was weird to know the name of another, to have never seen him apart from the visions she saw.

"You know my name." The man opposite of her spoke, "but I do not know yours."

"I am Wanda Maximoff," she said, "and you're currently held by the Avengers."

"Wanda Maximoff of the Avengers, has a certain ring towards it." He softly replied, "so what's the plan? What are you all going to do? What have you planned while I wait in a cell that is barely able to hold an infant Nargle."

She did not know what he was referring to, but could infer from the tone of his voice. It was then she released that the metallic cuffs chaining him to the desk were no longer in sight, in fact, she couldn't find them anywhere else in the room itself. It was as though they were disintegrated.

"We are still deciding on what it is we're going to do," while it might be true, it wasn't entirely accurate. None of them could come to an agreed decision. "I know that you can break free anytime you wish," she smiled, though it came out more like a grimace than anything else, "but don't forget who it was that knocked you down previously."

That prompted a smile from the man, "you did."

"Tell me about yourself, Harry." She asked, speaking in a manner as though they were friends, a complete opposite of Steve Roger's interrogation, "where are you from?"

"Godric's Hollow, a tiny village near the southern west of England. It was where I was born." She noticed a slight shift in his tone as he spoke of his hometown. "I'm not sure if it exists in your world, everything is so… unbelievably different."

"Ah," he spoke in realization, "you believe me, but the rest do not think I'm not of this world. They think that I am delusional, a villain with strength they do not understand."

"No," she quickly blurted in, "I mean, yes, I believe you. They might not, but they will not treat you unfairly, they are my friends, my family, they are good people."

"And none can cause a greater betrayal than the ones you treat as family. You think you know who they are? I've seen the things deep inside the recesses of their minds, a bunch of broken men, trying to play the hero."

"Are you not one yourself?"

He blinked, caught off guard by her question. "Everyone is broken on the inside, we were made that way, we-"

"A hero I mean." She said softly, "I saw you fighting against evil in my vision."

He was quiet, not granting her a response as his eyes darted away, before speaking once more, the topic quickly changed, "am I a guest, or a prisoner?"

It was then the doors behind them slid apart once more, as Steve Rogers, who was watching from the outside entered. "You're a guest." He said as he approached the man with the keys to his cuffs, only to realize soon after that they were no longer on. Ignoring that issue for the moment, he added in, "but I have certain conditions. The main one being that you'll stay here in the Stark Tower for now, at least until we settle certain things. If you're not from this world like you've said, it's best if you are not exposed to the people of mine."

"I am human, as you are."

"I know, but still."

"I understand." Harry got up to his feet, "it's not like I have anywhere else to go."


End file.
